


Danger Day

by ryketyke



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Trans John, Trans Male Character, i'm sorry i thought it was cute, sherlock knows exactly what to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 07:20:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7425355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryketyke/pseuds/ryketyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I hate it,"  John's voice cracks as he clings to Sherlock, "I hate my stupid body, and I hate that I hate it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danger Day

**Author's Note:**

> John and I had similar experiences waking up this morning, I guess. I felt awful and dysphoria hit me like a fucking bus, so I wrote this to make me feel better. What better way to deal with your own suffering than to make your faves suffer with you? This hasn't been edited or revised at all, so please be gentle with me.  
> *I know that assuming John is on testosterone, his period would have stopped by now. I chose to ignore that fact for the sake of this story, sorry if that bothers anyone.

John wakes up, and instantly wishes he hadn’t. There’s a sharp pain low in his belly and a sticky wetness at his crotch. He rolls to his back, off of Sherlock’s sleeping chest. When he shifts, so does the uncomfortable feeling between his legs. Groaning, he pushes himself out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom, grabbing a clean pair of pants on the way.  
John removes his soiled pants, sighing heavily when he sees they’re not salvageable. He grumbles as he tosses them in the bin before cleaning himself up and sticking a pad to the inside of his fresh pants. He looks in the mirror as he washes his hands, glaring angrily at the scars on his chest.  
Suddenly, John doesn’t want to be awake anymore. He dries his hands quickly and makes his way out of the bathroom, practically throwing himself onto his stomach when he reaches the bed. This causes Sherlock to stir beside him, turning on his side to face John.  
“Good morning,” he says, voice low and scratchy with sleep. The pillow in which John has buried his face muffles the grunt he offers in response. Sherlock reaches to to lay a hand on John’s back, his face scrunching in confusion. “John? What’s wrong?”  
John just grunts again, moving his hands up to cover his head. Sherlock rolls over completely now, poking John in the side to try to get his attention. “Joooohn…” He whines, his voice going up a few pitches.  
John’s hand flies to his waist and grabs Sherlock’s wrist, pushing his away from him, into Sherlock’s chest. “I’m not in the mood.” John grumbles into his pillow. Sherlock huffs loudly as John releases his wrist, before getting up from the bed and going to the bathroom to brush his teeth.  
After Sherlock sees the trashcan in the bathroom, it takes less than a second for John’s bad mood to make sense. He puts his toothbrush away before sneaking through the bedroom and going to the kitchen to get tea and painkillers for John.  
A few minutes later, Sherlock returns to the bedroom to find that John has not moved an inch. He frowns and sets the tea tray down on the nightstand, before seating himself next to John on the edge of the bed. He rests his hand in the middle of John’s back, earning his third “Ugh” of the morning.  
“Come on, love, I made you tea.” A groan, no movement. “And paracetamol.” John finally acknowledges him, turning himself over and sitting up just enough to swallow the tablets before flopping down onto his back.  
“There’s my handsome boyfriend.” Sherlock smiles at him, and John smiles back weakly before throwing his arm over his face, blocking himself from Sherlock’s view. Sherlock sighs and rests a comforting hand on John’s knee.  
It is at that moment that Sherlock’s mobile begins to ring from the pocket of his dressing gown. He sighs again and pulls it out of his pocket, hitting end without even reading the name. He tries to put it back in his pocket, but it starts ringing again before it gets all the way there.  
Sherlock stands up and turns away from the bed, raising his phone to his ear as he does so. “What?” He snaps into the receiver.  
“Sherlock,” Lestrade, of course. Sherlock should have known. “Are you busy?” Sherlock looks back at John, who is now curled in a ball on his side with a pillow over his head.  
“Hold on.” He says into the phone, before pulling it away from his face briefly. “I’ll be right back.” When John grunts (again) in response, Sherlock turns back around and goes into the hall, closing the door but staying close by, reluctant to leave John alone.  
“What do you want, Gavin?” Sherlock huffs.  
“It’s Greg. I know it’s the weekend, I know it’s early-”  
“Get on with it.”  
Lestrade sighs. “It’s another locked room, Sherlock. We need-”  
Sherlock interrupts him again, “I’m busy.”  
“We really need you, Sherlock. We’re stuck.”  
“I really can’t, Geoff.” Greg ignores the name this time, knowing it’s not a mistake.  
“Sherlock, I-”  
“I have to stay with John today.” Greg doesn’t answer for a moment, he’s too confused.  
“John? Is he okay?” Sherlock knows better than to answer with the truth, but he knows John and Greg are friends, so he doesn’t want to lie, either.  
“He’s fine. He’ll be fine.” Sherlock pauses a moment, trying to come up with a good way to explain it. “I sometimes have nights that John and my brother have taken to addressing as ‘danger nights.’”  
Lestrade is silent for a few seconds, trying to figure out how the two things connect. “Yes?” He gives in when it becomes clear that Sherlock is not going to elaborate.  
“John’s having a bit of a danger day. I can’t leave him.” He hears John shift and moan through the door. “I have to go.” He hangs up without waiting for a response. John groans again. Sherlock goes back into the room and crawls into bed next to John. He wraps his arms around him and presses a gentle kiss to his shoulder. John grunts.  
“Oh, stop with the groaning. It’s getting rather old.” Another kiss, this time to the back of his neck. John grunts again, rolling over to face Sherlock. Sherlock’s heart breaks when he notices the tears welling in John’s eyes.  
“Oh, love,” He pulls John closer, and John buries his face in Sherlock’s chest.  
“I hate it,” John’s voice cracks as he clings to Sherlock, “I hate my stupid body, and I hate that I hate it.” Sherlock gently rubs his back and bends his head to press a gentle kiss to the top of John’s head. John sobs into Sherlock’s chest, hands clutching into his dressing gown.  
“I know.” Sherlock says “I know, John.” He waits for John to control his breathing before he speaks again, voice so soft it’s almost a whisper, “I, for one, think your body is perfect.”  
John lets out a quick puff of air which Sherlock thinks he’s supposed to interpret as a laugh. John shakes his head slowly, untangling one hand from Sherlock’s dressing gown to wipe his cheeks. “Shut up,” he says, bringing his hand back down to rest on Sherlock’s hip, “You’re required to say that, you’re my boyfriend.”  
“And you are my boyfriend,” Sherlock counters, “My perfect, handsome, wonderful, masculine, soldier boyfriend. Whom I love.” John smiles weakly and pulls back just far enough to see Sherlock’s face.  
“Shut up,” he says again, and Sherlock giggles at the blush that creeps up John’s face. “Don’t lie to me.” Sherlock stops his giggling, instantly.  
“Oh, John,” Sherlock moves one hand to John’s face, lighting brushing his cheek with his thumb, “I’m not lying, love, why would you think I’m lying?”  
“Because nothing you’re saying is true.” John tries to look down, but Sherlock pulls his chin back up. John settles for diverting his eyes. “I just had to throw out a pair of pants because I bled on them. Explain how that shows masculinity, Sherlock, because I’m really not seeing it.”  
Sherlock sighs, and John refuses to meet his eyes. “John,” he starts, and it takes all of his will power to not let his frustration show in his voice, “please, look at me.” John reluctantly obeys.  
“John,” Sherlock tries to be strong, to support John, but he can feel himself breaking, “Love, please don’t think like that. Nothing about you is remotely feminine, okay? You are a man, John, one hundred percent, in every way. You’re my handsome boyfriend, and hopefully one day you’ll be my handsome husband.”  
Tears are flowing freely down both their faces now, and John barely manages to choke out, “Really? You really mean that?”  
“Of course I do. I love you, John Watson.” John grabs Sherlock’s face and pulls him down, their kiss is slow and loving and perfect. They’re both still crying when John pulls away from air and looks into Sherlock’s eyes.  
“I love you, too, Sherlock Holmes.”


End file.
